


Discord RPs: Oneshots+

by sal_amander



Category: Original Work
Genre: Backstory, Bonnie misses his grandma, Superpowers, Witches, heroes vs villains, improper handling of glass cups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_amander/pseuds/sal_amander
Summary: Uhhh so rp servers, yeah? Those are fun, I’m in a few. I write about em. It’s Gucci.
Kudos: 2





	Discord RPs: Oneshots+

His mask glared at him from the opposite side of the room. The pink seemed dull and washed out in the red lighting of the fairy lights in his room, and the opaque plastic of the eyes glinted with the vibrant color of the lights around him.

Bonnie burrowed further into the blankets of his bed, a heavy mass of blankets weighing him down. 

His photography salary wouldn’t cover med school, hero work,  _ and _ things like meds or a weighted blanket. Hero work came first, and student loans were a bitch, but he had to sacrifice something. He could deal with an ice box of a room and seven separate blankets to make him feel safe enough to sleep. He could deal with his self loathing and absolute terror of leaving his small apartment.

He had Rabbit.

Once he puts on the mask, it’s like he’s a different person. He can laugh as Rabbit. He’s confident, friendly, and  _ happy _ . He can speak out to adoring crowds, he can mock the Villains without worry.

It makes taking off the mask that much more debilitating, and it becomes harder each time, only for him to break down into panic attacks once he gets home.

But he wouldn’t give it up for anything. So what if he’s barely nineteen? He helps people. He  _ saves _ people. If he can put his ability to good use, he’ll do it. Just like his Grandmother believed he would.

His grandmother, who just chuckled when he broke dishes on accident. His grandmother, who believed he could use his strength to keep people safe. In middle school, when he punched a bully and shattered their jaw for picking on elementary kids, she didn’t get mad. She sat him down and told him that what he did was  _ good, _ but he needed to practice control. Who no matter what his bullies said, comforted him and loved him. His grandmother who, even when hooked up on tubes and life support, told him how  _ happy _ he made her, and how safe the world would be with him in it.

He hugged the rabbit plush closer to himself, something his grandmother had sewn when she still had fine motor control. When she was still… around.

His parents were nothing like his grandmother.

His parents had given him up to his grandmother when they found out he had an ability, around three. He was fourteen when he went back to them, just starting highschool. Fourteen, when he found out how bad some people thought of ability users.

His grandmother was religious, yes, but not the same as his parents. They had candles scattered about the house, and altars displayed elaborately in the living room. The scent of strawberries and pine always seemed to float around the house. She had affectionately called him the gods’ gift to her on late nights where the two of them couldn’t easily fall asleep.

The pomegranate candle on his bedside table flickered, and he watched the flame carefully. He hadn’t given him something in a while, but he had bought a cherry cider recently, non alcoholic, mind you. He could see if Hades would accept that. 

He kicked his feet out from under the blankets, the rest of him following after, as he pattered into the kitchen, pouring a small glass for his deity, and a smaller one for himself.

Were his parents religious? Yes. Some sort of Christian, he didn’t bother to remember despite every time they told him. Just as his grandfather was. 

His parents believed the abilities popping up were the work of something evil, and that if they tried hard enough, they could get rid of it.

Well, even with the scars littering his body, he had his ability, if the broken plate still lying on the countertop was any hint. And they tried just about  _ everything _ .

Bonnie sucked in a breath, and the empty glass in his hands shattered. He winced, digging the glass out of his palm, swept up the glass, and grabbed the first aid kit. He climbed up onto the counter to sit, grabbing a needle and thread to stitch up the worst of the gashes the glass had caused.

His parents were right about one thing. His ability was dangerous at the best of times. He had to be careful when using buildings as springboards, lest he crack into the cement. He had to be careful when fighting Villains, lest he shatter every little bone in their bodies.

He finished stitching, sitting up. He got a new cup, holding it loosely, and poured the cider into the two cups, taking them back to his room. One, he poured into the altars dish. The other, he took slow sips of, going back to stare at his mask.

The glass was empty.

He set it on his desk, going straight for his closet. White pants, boots that had buckled from the base to his knee. His utility belt. The ever-present pink hoodie with rabbit ears. 

He took a thumb to run over the mask, before sliding it onto his face. He adjusted the earbuds, and then the rabbit ears themself so they could pick up on the police channels correctly, and swivel when they needed to find another channel.

He flipped the lock on his window, slipping out, and shut it behind him, using a hidden wire to lock it behind himself. He used the concrete under the window sill as a springboard, jumping off onto the solid parts of the other building. He kept his momentum up as he jumped up to the roof, before using the buildings roofs to make his way deeper into the city, rabbit ears picking up on some cops heading to a downtown robbery barley minutes away, his winning smile plastered on his face already.

He would be fine.


End file.
